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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26435299">way out</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/altforcertaincontent/pseuds/altforcertaincontent'>altforcertaincontent</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Rating May Change, post crimson flower</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:27:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,003</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26435299</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/altforcertaincontent/pseuds/altforcertaincontent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercedes opens her orphanage. Emile does not wait to join her.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jeritza von Hrym/Mercedes von Martritz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Horny Void</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>way out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Vanja’s gone off with Father again.” Vesna stands on top of a box, reaching for the pins on the clothesline. Sheets billow in the wind as winter creeps up. Best to get everything indoors soon.</p>
<p>“Vanja’s a strong girl.”</p>
<p>“But <em> I </em>wanted to go, Mother.”</p>
<p>Mercedes is still not used to the titles, but they fit. Her heart thumps a little harder each time. “Can you lift an axe?” she asks.</p>
<p>Vesna leverages their glare at her. They’ve always had pretty eyes, colored the shade of jarred honey left in the sun. “She <em>always </em> goes,” they complain, handing her a pin. </p>
<p>She drops it in her pocket. They fold the sheet together and put it in the basket. “Emile likes his quiet.” Leaving Emile alone with anyone would’ve scared her nine years ago. He’d struggled for so long to be tender, to be <em> sweet </em> again, hidden in the attic of the orphanage until he settled down and the demon was sated, quieted, <em> killed </em> for a season.</p>
<p>Rain splats against her shoulders. She hurries unpinning the next blanket. “I can be quiet.”</p>
<p>“I’ve yet to see that.” They scoff at her, shoulders pushed back. “If you ask, I’m sure Emile will take you. Work on quiet. Let’s get these folded.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Not everyone who eats at the orphanage’s table is an orphan. Mercedes’ knows this. Children come to fill their stomachs most nights, and if she can, she sends them home with leftovers. There’s two empty spots along the benches, but dinner is always hectic, she barely notices. </p>
<p>A little one wants her knee healed, scratched and bloodied, and Mercedes tends to it with water and wraps. She stands out front the orphanage when the diners leave to keep an eye on them, while her live-ins clean up.</p>
<p>There’s twelve, at the moment, all here longer than a year. Vesna and Vanja have been with her since the beginning, toddlers left on her stoop, but the oldest is a brawny, tall girl named Katia who corrals the youngsters with ease. They all leave eventually, but it doesn’t hurt: Mercedes can mend broken wings, shelter them until they fly, and love them as much as the ones who won’t go.</p>
<p>Vesna joins her after a minute. They’re a short little thing, propped on their toes to peer further down the road. “They still ain’t home.”</p>
<p>“No, they aren’t.” She looks down. They’ve got potatoes smeared on their dark eyebrows. She’s not quite in the mood to draw baths tonight, so she tugs a handkerchief out of her dress and scrubs it off of their face. They complain marginally, but its laced with laughter. “Go make sure there’s dinner left for them, could you?” Ever the little helper, they scamper off as quickly as they joined her.</p>
<p>Getting twelve children to bed isn’t hard but it’s not easy. They can never agree on what bedtime story they want. Aurore shows her the hole in her stuffed bear’s leg, and Mercedes promises to show her how to stitch it up tomorrow. Ninon wants her hair braided. Basile tells her what he learned in school. All eleven present babble to her about something they did during the day, or things they want, which she does her best to give.</p>
<p>Only ten go to sleep, or tuck themselves in, tonight. She lets Vesna wait up with her for Vanja and Emile to come home. She’s not worried. Without his demon, Emile is still a renowned sword fighter. Their first winter together, only the four of them, bandits came knocking, and Emile disposed of them. She knew it to be <em> him </em> and not <em> it</em>, because he had to leave for a week.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Mother?” Vesna measures out sugar. It’s rare anymore, so the orphanage is always careful with it. Vegetables don’t itch the same tooth. “How did you and Father meet?”</p>
<p>Mother. Father. Her cheeks rival the fireplace. “A very long time ago,” she says.</p>
<p>“<em>How.</em>”</p>
<p>She licks her lips. <em> How </em> indeed. “We knew each other as children. We met again during the war, and he’s been with me since.” </p>
<p>“That’s boring.” They wipe sugar off on their shorts. “Vanja found a book with <em> way </em> cooler stories.”</p>
<p>“You shouldn’t be reading those,” Mercedes scolds. They grin, bright and missing their front tooth. “I <em> mean </em>it, Vesna. Put it in my room by the morning.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Emile finally arrives back, finally comes <em> home </em>, Vanja against his shoulder. He smells like wood and smoke when she comes to take her. Her fingers linger on his arm. Emile’s eyes linger on her, and Vanja’s none the wiser that she’s been moved.</p>
<p>“Father!” Vesna slips off of the counter. He is not the hugging kind, but they are, arms around his legs; he stiffly lays his hand atop their head, a war-ripped thumb careful when it passes through their hair. “What took so long?”</p>
<p>She sees his face twitch, giving his elbow a squeeze. He <em> tolerates </em> much from them, even if <em> it </em> doesn’t, and if Father leaves for a few weeks on end, it’s nobody’s business. “A wagon wheel broke,” he drawls, slow and careful. The scar on his jaw flexes with the muscle. Some days she feels like a blushing school girl, watching him in the open air. Their eyes briefly meet—he’s far too <em> aware </em>. “You should not have waited up.”</p>
<p>“Mother did.”</p>
<p>“<em>Mother</em>,” he repeats, “should not have either. To bed. I will need you strong tomorrow.” </p>
<p>They look between the two of them. They’re tiny, before Emile, leaning back to find his eyes. “I get to go with?” Emile nods to a tune she can’t hear; words do not always come, if only so he does not slip. Vanja’s not a heavy girl; Mercedes lays a gentle hand on their shoulder. “Right! Okay.”</p>
<p>Emile pats their head one more time, fingers straight. She stands on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Wash up,” she says carefully. “There’s dinner in the kitchen.” His eyes slide down to her, and Vesna <em> ews </em> when they kiss.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>to the anon on the meme who said "the orphanage kids call them mom and dad" thank you for kicking my brain into write-mode.</p>
<p>title from 'way out' by westfalia. nothing shared in themes, but i listened to it on repeat while writing this.</p>
<p>come along as i try to get used to mercedes voice. updates whenever. thanks for reading &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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